


i will be the moon, hanging over you.

by thepapernautilus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Humor, POV Second Person, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Resolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapernautilus/pseuds/thepapernautilus
Summary: "My inspiration?” Alisaie quotes sardonically. “That man has spent a hundred years scheming of a way to kill himself to prevent her death. He is, at the very least, madly in love with our dearest Warrior of Darkness and Slayer of Primals.”After saving the First, you decide to speak candidly with the Exarch.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Reader, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, background urianger/y'shtola
Comments: 27
Kudos: 272
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV - Crystal Exarch x WoL Recommendations





	i will be the moon, hanging over you.

The entire Crystarium, from the smallest of the dwarves to the tallest of the Vii, was celebrating, raucously, unabashedly, furiously, in defiance of fate itself. Life as the First knew it, fraught with death and risk and mayhem, was _finally_ at peace under the blessed starlight of nightfall. Crystarium soldiers everywhere were shedding bits of their armor like second skins and drowning their sorrows and joys in barleywine and ale; children shrieked through the streets with firecrackers handcrafted by thaumaturges; the Scions had their own bar all to themselves in the Catenaries, and liquor and food alike flowing ceaselessly between laughter and good conversation. Dulia-Chai and Chai-Nuzz had brought crates of Eulmore’s finest wines and richest foods from Eulmore, and at some point Dulia-Chai pressed a particularly expensive looking bottle into your hands with a murmur and a rushed kiss on your forehead, before running off to join her ever-haggard looking husband. 

For your part, while your mind was spinning from the events of Amaurot and The Dying Gasp, and you longed to go back home to the Source, you, more than anyone, knew that hard-won victories warranted the highest of celebrations. So when Thancred bade you to take a shot of firewater with him you obeyed, giving him a barking laugh when he scrunched up his face like a scolded Qiqirn and shooing a curious Ryne away from the scarlet bottle, and with that, you moved through the night with a heady buzz and pushed darker thoughts aside.

Alphinaud handed you a carefully wrapped pastry and casually asked you to deliver it to Y’shtola, who was investigating the Cabinet of Curiosity, and find her you did. You missed her at first; you saw Urianger’s broad, tanned shoulders and sweeping twinkling robes first, both arms pressed against a bookshelf, and only then you caught the flick of Y’shtola’s white ear. You had never seen them stand so close to each other, let alone so… _intimately_. You listened for a moment, catching only scraps of quiet conversation, Y’shtola’s wry sarcasm and Urianger’s loquacious gravel, implicit with suggestiveness. Finally, Y’shtola reached up with a small hand and tugged his head down to hers with surprising strength; flushing like a child, you dropped the cake off on a nearby desk and fled before you were discovered. 

Alphinaud asked you repeatedly if Y’shtola enjoyed the dessert; you shrugged haplessly, mortification swallowing your features as Alisaie’s sharp laughter echoed behind him. “Fairly obvious, isn’t it, brother?” She mocked. 

“Obvious?” He snorted. “What in hellfire are you talking about?” 

Alisaie gave you a knowing look, then smirked at her bewildered brother. “Look about you. Who’s missing from this party with all our closest friends? Two people. I think you can figure the arithmetic.” 

Alphinaud stammered some excuse, looking to you for affirmation, but you merely snatched the nearest mug of ale and downed it as Alisaie erupted into gales of laughter. 

It was passing strange to see the Exarch—no, _G’raha Tia_ — with his hood off, but he moved through the commotion easily, leaning on his austere Allagan staff a little heavier than before. No one, aside from yourself, was as celebrated as he; everyone knew him, loved him, worshipped him; here was the man who lead his people to prosperity, who summoned the Warrior of Darkness to bring the night back and vanquish the Lightwardens, and now, only now, was his bare, youthful face exposed to them. The festivities were beginning to dwindle, only by a fraction, when you were able to get him to yourself. “First time I’ve been able to eat since the celebration started,” he grins at you over a piping hot herring pie as you take a seat next to him at the bar. “Seems everyone has to tell me how _young_ I look.” 

“You’ve aged better than even the Elezen,” you note. “It is something to wonder at.”

“If the Tower spared my features, my mind feels as if it’s aged doubly,” he says softly. Then he blinks, considering you. “How long as it been for you, since I locked myself in the Tower in the Source?”

You frown, adding the moons up in your head. “A little less than a year, I believe,” you tell him. He blinks furiously at you, shocked, then schools his features into accord. 

“Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I am well aware of your history, but… it has been a century since I’ve seen you, yet naught a year since you’ve seen me. ‘Tis difficult to believe.”

“Such is the nature of time travel,” you agree softly. Staring at his features, dimly lit by candlelight and starlight, you remember your conversation on the beaches of Kholusia, sitting on the pebbled ground, speaking together of the future. _For she is my inspiration, and I would give much and more for the chance to speak with her as friends, with no thought of concealment_. You hadn’t known what to think, during that conversation; part of you suspected, wondered, especially with the way he spoke and lingered on you, but you imagined a much different woman than yourself that had captured the Exarch’s imagination so. 

“It bears remarking; what would you have me call you?” 

The Exarch chewed thoughtfully on his meal. “Whatever you like, but I suppose ‘Exarch’ is serviceable in public. If… G’raha rings truer for you, then by all means, however, let it be said I do not feel I am the same man I was before.” 

“Exarch,” you say softly. His ears flick, and he leans close to listen to you over the din of the festivities. “You spoke to me, once, of a friend. Your… inspiration,” you smile at him, and he has the good nature to blush. “I don’t wish to be egotistical, but I do not think I am mistaken that you spoke of me that day on the beach. Am I not?”

“I knew it as indulgence when I said it to you, but—” his words are overwhelmed then by the screeching of a rocket into the air; it explodes in a tumble of sparks, punctuated by the gasps and cheers of the townspeople. Your heads tip up to watch the show. 

“Perhaps… this conversation should take place somewhere more private,” he tells you, leaning close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. “I do not wish to steal you away from your friends, however—”

“Steal me away,” you grin. “I daresay it hardly stopped you the first time.” You take his hand and he returns it with a strong grip, like he doesn’t want to let you go, like he’s been waiting for this all along.

“Stay close,” he smiles at you, then waves a crystallized hand over your heads. An icy feeling crawls up your spine, and you realize it’s the same spell he used to conceal you from Ranj’iit in the Oculus. He winks a crimson eye at you, then leads you through the throng to the Tower. As you pass the Scion’s table, you overhear Alphinaud speaking to Alisaie. “Have you seen our dear friend anywhere? Call me patronizing, but after everything, I cannot help but worry after her.” 

Alisaie, more than a little drunk, slams a hand on the table. Silverware and drinks scatter everywhere. “ _Arithmetic,_ brother! Think. Who else is missing? It’s plain as a pom-pom on a Moogle, yet you’re oblivious as ever! I swear, did they teach you _anything_ at the Studium?”

Scowling at her, he scans the Catenaries, drifting right over you and the Exarch’s invisible bodies. “She and… oh. _Oh_!” He gasps, scandalized. “You don’t think…?” 

“ _My inspiration_?” She quotes sardonically. “That man has spent a hundred years scheming of a way to kill himself to prevent her death. He is, _at_ _the very least_ , madly in love with our dearest Warrior of Darkness and Slayer of Primals.”

“Well, I never,” Alphinaud mutters. He glances around the table, then steals Alisaie’s half-drained goblet and downs it promptly, only to sputter and choke on it. The Exarch tugs you away as Alisaie’s laughter follows you out of the festivities and into the safety of darkness. 

He leads you back to your quarters in the Pendants. The clerk is mysteriously gone; you hope he’s taking a very, very long break. The Exarch steps aside as you unlock the door to your quarters; you’re rendered opaque once more as you step inside. “Make yourself comfortable,” you bid the Exarch, kicking off your own boots and lighting candles as you go. The Exarch draws himself a glass of water from the pitcher on your table, cradling it as you take a seat from each other. He fidgets, the austere confidence you associate with the Exarch gone, and left in his place, your old friend G’raha Tia. 

Truth be told, you had some plan for how this was going to go. For all your impetuousness, you rarely moved into battle without some idea of your strategy. While you hadn’t had much time at all since you first spoke to Hydaelyn to consider matters of love, you weren’t blind to reality, nor that which was so obvious.Alisaie had the right of it; the Exarch’s feelings were ill-disguised, and you had no intention of concealing yours. You were, at the very least, a little in love with the man who had risked so, _so_ much for your sake. His gentle hopes of a grand adventure with his dearest friend had taken you quite thoroughly. And it was time to speak, and more, without concealment.

“Please, continue, G’raha.” You cross your legs, tilting your head back to consider him. You don’t miss how his eyes soften at the mention of his true name, and it makes you smile. 

He nods, looking away from you as he speaks. “When… When I told you of my ‘friend’, I could not help myself. Concealing the truth from you, something I had prepared to do for over a century, was far harder than I could have ever expected. You… bring the truth out of people, my friend, whether you intend to or not. I figured, at the very least, when all was said and done, I have said something of truth to you. It is easy to expose one’s feelings when you have no thought of the future.”

“And now?” Your words bring his eyes back to you, molten scarlet, bisected with black pointed pupils.

“It was true, and I do not regret being so honest, but I must admit, I am… a little embarrassed about my forwardness.” He grins sheepishly, canines glinting in the distant lighting. “I apologize, Warrior, if I have put you at a disadvantage.”

“I have no interest in your apologies, G’raha.” You come to your feet, walking over to him. He fidgets in his seat, eyes wide on you as you stand in front of him. You lean down and rest a soft hand on his cheek. His reaction is immediate; he leans into your touch with a sigh, eyes closing. You run your thumb over the noble slope of his nose, ‘cross his cupid’s bow and onto those full lips you had spent far too long watching, dragging your thumb over the soft, plump pout. His eyes fly open, pupils dilated, breath coming rapid and hot. It is something heady, to have the most powerful man on this Shard at your mercy from a mere touch like this. You put a hand on his chest, leaning him back in the chair, and easily come astride his lap. His hands fly automatically to your waist, digging into your flesh with a hunger. You seat yourself comfortably and lean forward to drag your lips across his neck. He whines in response, grip tightening on you.

“Forgive me,” you whisper. “I have little interest in speaking right now.” Your hands slide down his chest, tangling in the soft fabric of his robes. “Tell me; did Alisaie speak true?”

“Yes, I, yes…” he runs his hands down your back, clawing desperately at you. You can feel his heart hammering beneath your splayed hands. “I don’t know if anyone has loved you as I. I… I did not dare to hope that… you would…” he trails off as your hands trail lower, down his stomach, then up his ribs. You’re pleased by the strength of his core, and the way he shudders under your touch. You nibble on his jawline in response. “Please, tell me, a-am I m-misinterpreting… what is… happening?” 

You cannot help but be charmed by his flustered state. “No concealment, Raha,” you whisper, and lean forward and press, what you had hoped, to be the softest of kisses on his parted, breathless lips. 

It is as flame to kindle.

The meek, flustered man beneath you is gone; one of his hands tangles in your hair and presses you ruthlessly into him, crushing you, driving you down onto him and the breath straight out of you. The kiss is fiery and desperate, tinged with an anguish you know not words for. Had you ever been kissed so thoroughly, without quarter? You had wondered how kissing him would be, and your imagination had prepared gentle kisses under soft sunlight, but you had forgotten that you were courting a man who had waited a hundred years for this, and as such, patience was cast aside. 

“Forgive me,” he gasps between kisses, lingering longer and longer on your lips with teeth and tongue. You melt into his arms, helpless. “I had… wanted to… take my time…”

“Shut up,” you mutter, grinding your hips down onto his. His arousal is unmistakable even under his thick robes.You drive a groan out of him, his hands settling about your waist and lower, groping your buttocks with splayed fingers. You tug at his robes impatiently, struggling to find a clasp. “Stupid… ridiculous robes…”

Then he’s standing, picking you up with him, strong arms supporting you effortlessly, and tumbling you onto the dining table. The water pitcher shatters onto the floor as he descends upon you, the basket of carefully arranged fruit tossed to the floor carelessly as your legs wrap around his waist to hold him tight to you, returning all his fiery kisses with equal fervor. “They’re traditional Allagan robes,” he mumbles between kisses. “My dear, I fear you insult an entire civilization in your impatience.” 

You huff. “Off with them, Raha.” 

“As you wish.” Then, with a swift movement, he yanks your hempen leggings down to your calves, a twinkle in his scarlet eyes so much like the man who coaxed you into games in the wilderness of Mor Dhona almost a year ago. You shriek, laughing at him as he presses scorching kisses into your bared stomach. “Y’shtola had the right of it,” you try to scowl, “nothing but half-truths and secrecy.” You hum in pleasure when he sucks a red welt into your hipbone. 

“’Tis no fault of mine you weren’t specific enough with your commands,” he counters, then smiles wickedly. “Pray let me make up for my insolence.” Then he falls to his knees before you, and any thought of ill-will flies out of your head as his warm mouth presses open-mouthed kisses into your bare thighs. “‘Tis alright, my dear?” He asks, bending down to suck just shy of your pantalettes. 

“Shut up,” you gasp, but there’s no bite to your remark. Leggings still about your ankles, you rest your legs on his strong shoulders, thighs bracketing his bowed head. Watching him look up at you from between your legs, hair falling out of his braid, cheeks flushed, is unexpectedly charming. He presses a testing thumb at your apex, dragging down, slowly, feeling, teasing, and your head tips back, awash with pleasure. You can feel his eyes on you as he works you, fingers growing more confident in his ministrations as he elicits gasps and cries from you, squirming on the table, hips driving upwards to him. 

“How I’ve waited for this,” he breathes, pushing the thin fabric aside to lay his mouth on you. You buck off the table, your cries echoing through the room. “Did you know,” he murmurs, leaving sloppy kisses on your slickened apex, “I’ve wanted this, wanted you, since I met you at the Tower? I had never seen anyone so beautiful as you.” 

“Raha,” you gasp. His tongue laves at your node, and you claw at the table for purchase. It’s so _unfair_ but you wouldn’t have him stop for all the gil in the Source. “In truth,” he continues, coming off you with a criminally wet sound, “I had intended to speak with you after we solved the mystery of the Tower, tell you of my feelings, but, well. So really, this has been a long, _long_ time coming.” He slides a finger in you; it’s uncharacteristically cold, and you realize with a start it must be crystal. He fucks you easily, pumping into you; you’ve never been so wet so fast, and you’re embarrassed at how obscene it sounds. He adds a second finger and sucks harshly at your clit, chasing your orgasm as you cry and twist, clutching at grey and red hair. Absently you stroke his ear, and you notice how he shudders and presses further into you. 

His pace quickens, and it’s enough; it’s more than enough. Your climax floods through you and rips a hoarse wordless shout from your lips. He hums soft encouragements into you, and he doesn’t abate until you’re pleading for mercy, convulsing around his unyielding fingers and gasping for breath. 

“Are you alright, my love?” He straightens up, watching you and wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. You shudder again, then tug him down to kiss him slowly and soundly, tasting yourself and wine on his lips.

“Robes,” you gasp between kisses, “by the Twelve, _off._ ” Wrapping your legs around him for leverage, you hoist yourself up and tug at the convoluted mess of robes, desperately trying to undo them. Laughing at your efforts, he deftly unhooks a golden fasten and the robe falls easily off him, exposing his chest. It is bisected by a great slash of crystal, the same deep golden veins twining his crystallized arm continuing downwards. Dazed, you drag your nails down his skin and crystal, mesmerized. 

“I don’t suppose you want to continue on the table,” he smiles wryly, “however, let it be said I _thoroughly_ enjoyed my meal.”

Your entire face heats with embarrassment, and he takes advantage of your speechlessness to scoop you into his arms and lay you onto your bed. He takes a moment to finish ridding you of your pantalettes and leggings, kissing down your legs as he goes. “Do not be so embarrassed,” he urges softly. “I have never been so happy, in all my years. You are beautiful beyond words.” 

It is unexpectedly touching, and love swells hard in your chest for him. Before you can respond, there is a knock at the door, and your panic is reflected on the Exarch’s face. 

“Shite,” you hiss, reaching for your leggings, hesitating, then staring at the nearly nude Crystal Exarch on your bed. “ _Shite._ ” Thinking quickly, you quickly abandon your half-formed idea of throwing him in your wardrobe. _“_ Who is it?!” 

“Prithee forgive me.” _Urianger?!_ “Y’shtola bade me thanketh thee for thy dessert. I… apologize if thou witnessed anything… untoward.” 

G’raha claps a hand across his mouth, the implication obvious even to him. “ _Y’shtola and…?_ ” He mouths at you. You nod, eyes wide.

“Yes, well, um, have a good night, Urianger!” 

“Lyne bade me query if thou hath seen the Exarch,” he continued. It was the Exarch’s turn to look horrified. “Alisaie bethought thee might knoweth his whereabouts.” 

“Haven’t seen him all night!” You squeak. 

“Art thou certain…?”

“ _Yes._ Very. Good night!” 

Urianger made some noise of agreement, then you heard his footsteps trail from your door and out of the Pendants. You collapsed on the bed, heart hammering.

“I’m going to skin her alive,” you promise, cursing Alisaie. “She _knew_ damn well what she was doing!” 

“I didn’t even think about Lyne,” the Exarch muttered. “Damn it.” He smiles sheepishly at you. “It doesn’t appear we can have even a moment alone unmolested, so bound by our duties and friends.” 

You scowl, standing up to snuff out the lamps and drag a chair impatiently in front of your door. “I’m the godsdamned Warrior of Darkness, I think I’ve earned a night to myself.” You turn to look at the Exarch, only to catch him averting his eyes sharply. “Were you…?” You painfully aware of your nudity from the waist down. 

“’Tis hard _not_ to,” he counters, grinning rakishly. “It is one thing to see your body up close, but another entirely to observe from a distance.” 

You blush, tugging your tunic down as you crawl back into the bed. “You have a way of making me feel so young,” you complain.

“Do I?” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss your neck. _He’s naked_ , you notice. In your distraction, he’d shucked his robe and folded it neatly on your night stand along with your own discarded clothes. A wild curiosity takes you, and you execute a well-practiced rogue technique and pin him to the bed, straddling him easily. 

“Grant me this curiosity,” you whisper, and you trace the edges of the crystal with a finger. While it has almost wholly enveloped his shoulders, his right arm is still clear, but from there, it goes diagonally across his torso, ended ragged at his hips. Everything below… is untouched by the ravages of the crystal.

“Pity,” you smirk. “I had almost hoped…” 

The Exarch rolls his eyes, although it is unmistakable how he stirs at your suggestion. “Give it another century,” he mutters, then drifts off into you a groan as your hand dips below his waist and curves around his hardened length. “If… you do… much more than that,” he gasps, “I fear I may embarrass myself.” His face goes slack with pleasure when you pump him experimentally, and he strains against your touch. 

“Well now,” you murmur, “we can’t have _that_ , can we?” 

You move yourself so your apex is pressed against him, and he gasps in pleasure as you rock your hips, sliding him between your cleft. He curses, tugging you down to kiss you possessively, palming your breasts under your tunic before lifting it off you entirely. “By the Twelve,” he groans. Both hands on your ass, he grinds you down onto him. “you are the most exquisite thing…” 

It is a simple matter to sink yourself down onto him. Slickened with your arousal, he slides easily in to the hilt, and G’raha nearly crushes the wind out of you, groaning into your chest as you slowly sink down. He captures your lips in an open-mouthed, savage kiss, gasping as you raise up, then sink down again. You arch your back as you move, your climax already climbing higher and higher as your pace quickens. 

So lost in chasing your own pleasure, it takes you by surprise when he tumbles you forward, driving into you harshly as he pins you to the bed and claims your mouth for his own. You yelp, clutching him wildly as he drives into you. “I won’t last long,” he gasps, ragged, and he grabs your hand and pulls it between you. “Can you… can you bring yourself to…?” 

You nod helplessly, obeying him and touching yourself as he fucks you with long-pent desperation, hands roving from cradling your face, palming your breasts, and encircling your waist. “My good girl,” he groans, and before long he cries out your name into the crook of your neck, biting down as he pumps his climax languidly into you, and it is not lot at all that you follow him down into that abyss, falling to a point of no return. 

When you wake in the morning to brilliant sunshine, you notice, with a start, that the Exarch is gone. 

“Oh, fuck me,” you groan, lying back on the pillows. Had you scared him off? Did he come to his senses? You thought you understood so clearly what that had meant, but…

“Good morning, my dear.”

You sit up with alarm; the Exarch enters your room carrying a tray of food in one hand. “The cook was more than a little hungover, so it took some time to rummage up something suitable.” He sets it down, pulls back his hood, and settles next to you.

“I thought…”

“You thought…?” He repeats, kissing your forehead gently and smoothing down your bedhead. He blinks. “Oh. _Oh._ I apologize, I hadn’t thought…”

You grin up at him. “You presence is remedy enough.” 

After you break your fast, and a long, hot bath, you (separately) join the others at the Catenaries. Festoons and empty glasses are scattered everywhere, and citizens are nursing hangovers while slowly sweeping up broken glasses and spent fireworks. Alisaie is curled into a blanket and looking very pale while Alphinaud nurses a mug of hot tea. Thancred mutters darkly to Ryne as she holds a pack of ice to his forehead. “I’m getting old,” he mutters sourly to her. “I used to be able to drink half my weight in liquor and feel none the worse. Old age is unfair.”

“I daresay you drank all that and more,” she murmurs, smiling. “Come, drink some tea.” He takes an experimental sniff, then covers his face in despair. 

Y’shtola gives you a soft smile as you approach, and you take a seat between her and Urianger. “’Tis good to see you well-rested,” she notes. “Urianger tells me you retired early. I daresay it suited you.”

“Ah, yes,” you say quickly. “I, um… the wine gave me quite the headache.” 

“Did it?” Alisaie pipes up from across the table. Your stomach sinks. “And what about you, Exarch? Did you _also_ have a headache?” 

His eyebrows raise in alarm. “I am an old man,” he mumbles, “It is my penchant to retire early.” 

“Passing strange, Lyne told me _no one_ could find you last night,” Alisaie continues sourly. “Highly irregular.”

“Perhaps we were merely missing each other?” The Exarch offers weakly. He stares at you in desperation and you avoid his gaze, staring pointedly at Urianger. The scholar returns your stare, eyes widening with realization, then clears his throat.

“Thou should know, ancient Allagan scholars once stated their creations hath rooms upon the—”

“Don’t you cover for her!” Alisaie snaps. “You’re just as guilty as they are!” 

“Oh, come off it,” Thancred growls. “’Tis for the best our Warrior of Darkness and the Exarch aren’t airing out their sex life for breakfast. Besides, ’tis plain to see for anyone with a pair of eyes, so why bother them about it?” Ryne covers her mouth, scandalized. 

The Exarch tugs his hood over his head, cheeks reddening beyond measure. You stare out at the distant violet blooms of Lakeland and pray a Primal appears out of the sky, the nastier the better. 

You might be the Warrior of Darkness and Light itself, Slayer of Primals, Stealer of Pants, but far be it from you to be immune to the humiliation of the morning after with your closest friends. 

**Author's Note:**

> [my carrd.](https://thepapernautilus.carrd.co/)  
> thank you for reading! <3


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